


The Assassination of The Prince

by thewrongkhristol



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27835375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewrongkhristol/pseuds/thewrongkhristol
Summary: You are an assassin who has found herself in love with your target.
Relationships: A Prince/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	The Assassination of The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> It jumps from the night in question to past events and back to the present.

He scanned the crowd, with a smile, you hid behind a pillar. You could tell he was bored in a sea of masks fawning over him. 

\-----

"No, not me," he had forced a laugh, but the smile hadn't reached his eyes. "Take this gold, and expensive fabrics, and I'd be invisible, no one would see me."

You had heard this line laced in false modesty many times before. The royalty, fed with a golden spoon complaining about the burden of their wealth. It was always as your dagger pierced their heart that you wondered if in that moment, they really hungered for the safety anonymity would have brought. And here you were, many moons before the grand ball hearing the line from the prince but only this time, you believed him.

"Surely, one wouldn't wish to be the servant bringing the drinks, or the carriage driver tending after a steed." You took a drink from a passing platter, enjoying how you toyed with his majesty.

"This is servitude, my lady, albeit a more coveted role," he looked you over with great curiosity. "The noble servant and carriage driver don't have targets on their crown, and rightfully so, they are not the makers of the mess the kingdom is in."

This was an interesting line, never had you heard royalty openly criticize their blood in this manner. Corruption was to a king as wings were to a dove. 

"Have I offended you, my lady?" He asked with a bite. "My uncle has advised against discussing policy with ladies, lest I bore them with my unpopular opinion."

His opinion was only unpopular in the courts, there was a nation outside those gilded doors that very much agreed with him. The person who had paid her handsomely, however, did not. 

"Not at all, your majesty," you smiled into your glass as you took a sip, surveying the crowd as they mingled and pretended they had something to celebrate. You caught the eye of your patron, his crown much heavier, as was the case with jewelry adorning a king. The politics of it all almost made you sick but his request to remove his nephew was not the worst thing you had seen in your profession. 

You turned your attention to the prince, "Although it makes a lady wonder what you would propose to rectify the problem."

He smiled. "So you agree there is a problem that needs rectifying."

This man, you thought to yourself, was going to be a problem.

\-----

You made your way to his line of sight, removing your mask, he did the same and for the first time in the night, he gave a true smile.

\-----

"I'm glad my poor humor did not keep you from coming." 

You hated the way his rich voice and scent made the blood rush to your face. You were a professional, and these feelings were anything but. 

"It was your poor humor that brought me here," you curtsied, your midnight blue gown caught the light in such a way that it was a beacon to the prince. Like a moth getting too close to the flame, unwitting to the pain it would cause. "I wonder if your majesty would grant me a dance tonight, with the masked ball coming, I would like to see how you would make as a dance partner."

"Never have I been asked to share a piece." It was his turn to feel the heat on his face. 

You sweetly smiled. "Does it vex you that I dared to, your highness?" 

"Quite the contrary." With a bow, he offered his hand, taking yours he delicately lead you to the floor. "Though your use of honorifics does."

He smiled, giving you a twirl following the flourish of the music, his hand then resting steady on your waist, pulling you close. You always felt it absurd how people described falling in love. They were all wrong. There was no magic in the act, it was only foolishness and here you were, feeling like the court jester. 

"And how should I address you?" You asked with your back on his chest as you both swayed. 

You allowed the dance to continue without pressing the matter.

As the music was swelling, almost coming to an end. Your breath hitched as you twirled and he pulled you close, so close your lips almost met. It would have looked obscene to any onlookers and you did all you could to not put a show. As the music faded and the room broke into applause, he leaned in, his breath on your neck as he whispered. 

"Yours."

\-----

He reached your side, careful to slide behind a pillar, his mask momentarily forgotten. 

\-----

You told yourself you were waiting for the masquerade to finish the job so the court could take it as a warning. Yet with every passing glance, hidden smile and the memory of his lips painfully close to yours, you knew it was not the case. And so, on clear nights like these you walked the gardens, hoping the love you held would fall and get tangled with the roots of those flowerbeds.

A familiar scent filled your senses, you wrapped the shawl tighter.

“You are a lovely specter,” he said as he grew near. 

“Who is haunting who?” You asked. “As I see it, I was here first.”

“Does it matter?” He answered with a boyish grin. “Let’s haunt the lands together.”

It did sound wonderful, you dared yourself to dream a little. How fitting, that here this man was toying with being a ghost. In a few days time he would be, you supposed. 

He caressed your cheek, and you all but melted into his touch. His other hand came to rest on your waist, his warmth passing on to you. You whispered something barely audible, your treacherous eyes now tearing up.

“What is it, my lady?” He asked in a hush.

“I said, I love you.” 

He gave one of his rare smiles, the ones he reserved only for you, the ones that reached his eyes and transformed his whole face. Seeing your distress, the smile faded slightly. 

“And how is it that this which brings me so much joy, pains you terribly?” He swayed you to the rhythm of the wind. “I would kill to see you smile.” He whispered, holding you tight. 

You buried your face in his neck, never having it so exposed as it is was now.

“Should you ask it from me, I would gladly die to give you peace-.”

“Do not say that,” you cut him off. “Do not ever think your death will bring me peace.”

As he began to speak, you kissed him. The shock was momentary, but very quickly he was corresponding. If he had stopped to think, which is seldom done when affection is reciprocated, he would have noted the kiss, while passionate, also tasted like an apology.

——-

“I see you found my gift agreeable.”

You took a gloved hand and caressed the dress you’d found lying on your bed that evening. In one of the many folds, your tool of the trade was tucked neatly in wait of the perfect opportunity. You slipped him a mask to be used at the needed moment.

“May I have this dance, my prince?”

“You may have anything you ask of me, my lady.”

He led you to the floor as the music began once more.

——-

“You are calling for your own head.” You studied his face, waiting to hear the punchline.

“You asked how to solve the problem,” he answered. “The coronation is fast approaching, I am the least inclined to take the throne and my uncle the last person that should keep it."

"With me gone, there are many far better suited, but of course," he added. "The risk is my uncle refusing to relinquish power."

“You would do that.” It wasn’t a question.

“If I could.” He smiled with some bitterness. 

“The carriage driver can come and leave as they please,” he continued. “I told you I am a servant, even in death, I am sure I need their permission.”

——-

The blade went in as fast as it came out of hiding. With the exuberance of the clothing, only a pinch would be felt, at least in the very beginning. Any sign of distress across the face, hidden behind the mask. And if there was a shout for help, it was drowned in the cacophony of the merry men and women of the court. Any stumbling out of the ballroom, surely would be seen as a product of the drink.

Setting him gently in an empty hall, you made your way to the front and called for a carriage. 

Once inside, you began the tedious task of ridding yourself of the gown, ready to quickly dispose of it.

"Where to, my lady?" 

You moved to the seat closest to the driver and opened the curtain. The driver looked forward, his strong hands steady on the reigns. 

With a grin and halfway out of the dress you answered, "To the docks, my prince."

\-----

Many hours later, it would be a servant who would see the prince's mask on a man with a pool of blood. Only a few would know that when the mask was removed, it was the king’s countenance that was found instead of the prince's.

By the morning, the royal family would falsely announce the prince's death and the ill disposition of the king after the passing of his beloved nephew. The aftermath of who would take over would be rushed and overall not a concern to you and your prince.

**Author's Note:**

> This all happened when a fantastic playlist found me. Please check out Oliviaaalee on YouTube. This was the playlist in question: you've fallen in with love with the prince you're supposed to assassinate (dark royalty core)
> 
> I am a sucker for happy endings. I could not bring myself to break your heart in this manner. Maybe in a later story. 
> 
> *Sorry for any errors, this is the first story I have written in ages!


End file.
